


A Poor Excuse for Poetry

by LemonCakeDesign



Series: Almost (Sweet Music) [12]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24435646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonCakeDesign/pseuds/LemonCakeDesign
Summary: I'm a cryptic writerI'm an ignorant foolI'm a poor excuse for poetryTrying to play it coolI'm just trying to play it coolThe thing about G’raha Tia, Pike decides, is this: he is a brat, he is a know-it-all, he is annoying, and Pike adores him beyond measure.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Series: Almost (Sweet Music) [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535039
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	A Poor Excuse for Poetry

The thing about G’raha Tia, Pike decides, is this: he is a brat, he is a know-it-all, he is annoying, and Pike adores him beyond measure.

Everyone’s been really  _ weird _ to Pike, ever since he defeated the Ultima Weapon. People, when they recognize his name or his face, give him a smile and a handshake. Even the Alliance leaders, who looked at him as a particularly useful primal slayer before, seem to defer to him. People keep expecting him to be  _ smart _ and  _ useful  _ and the “Warrior of Light,” whatever they think that means.

So it’s nice to go around G’raha and have him just assume he’s going to have to do the heavy lifting when it comes to brains. It’s nice to be the muscle.

Pike lounges on the ground in Rammbroes’ tent, half-dozing as G’raha reads over some reports. He’s still looking into the defenses of the Tower, after Pike had passed through the Labyrinth. 

“You don’t have stay here, you know,” G’raha says, without looking up from his papers. “I imagine it’s rather boring.”

“Not really, I’m composing,” Pike says. “And if I go back, they’ll make me fight Garuda, I heard she just got summoned again. I love Valliant, but if I have to listen to her complain about Garuda for the hundredth time, I’ll give up and become a hermit like Jehantel.”

“You aren’t worried for her safety?”   


“The hate fuels her.” Pike sits up, looking at G’raha. “Any progress?”   
  
“None that you would appreciate,” he says, which is code for “not at all,” as Pike’s learned. G’raha sighs, and sets the papers down. He stretches, joints popping, and Pike appreciates the glance at his nicely muscled back. “I require a break. Tell me of your composition.”

“Yes, your highness,” Pike says, rolling his eyes. “I’m composing a ballad of remembrance. Jehantel inspired me.”

“For whom?”

Pike lets the silence hang heavy in the air. “That’s a loaded question to ask a warrior.”

“My apologies,” G’raha says, and to his credit he actually looks regretful, cheeks tinged red with embarrassment. 

“Accepted.” Pike taps out a beat on his thigh. “It’s for the Scions who died at the Waking Sands. They deserve to be remembered, along with the rest of us. And I don’t think anyone besides me will think to write it.”

G'raha is quiet for a moment, and Pike wonders if he's put him off. Sometimes he cares a lot more than other people seem to.

“It surprises me, the depth of your love for other people,” G’raha says, just as Pike is deciding to apologize. “I had assumed your position went to your head.”

“I’m pretty sure Valliant would have a lot to say about that,” Pike says with a shrug. He flops back to the floor. “It’s not as if I got into this because I wanted to be some hero. I just...did what I thought was right.”

“Would that others could follow your example,” G’raha replies. “We’d have no worries about Garlemald.”   


“Mm,” Pike says. He closes his eyes, going back to dozing on the floor.

* * *

How Pike ends up sleeping with G’raha Tia is, for once, very clear.

He’s practicing shots out on the outskirts of Saint Coinach’s Find, having found a particularly sturdy tree to nail a target to. It’s barely an effort to land bull’s eye after bull’s eye, so he’s moved onto harder and harder shots over time. 

“What  _ are _ you doing?” G’raha calls up to him, as Pike is dangling off a precarious crystal outcropping, upside down.

He fires, splitting his last shot down the middle cleanly. Pike cheers, then flips off the crystal to land on the ground below. He rolls, to minimize the impact on his knees.

“Practicing,” Pike answers, as if it explains anything.

“And the dangling…?”

“Familiarity breeds complacency, as I’m told,” Pike says, affecting a wise air. “And I was bored. Static targets are not very interesting.”

“No, they are not,” G’raha says. “You didn’t consider practicing mounted archery? You do have a personal chocobo, yes?”   


“I don’t ride her into battle.” Pike shrugs. He spots a cobra in the distance over G’raha’s shoulder, and gets an idea. “Hey, hold still for a moment, will you?”   


“I-what-” G’raha stammers, as Pike aims his bow over G’raha’s shoulder. He breathes in, then releases the arrow. It flies true, spearing the cobra through the head and killing it instantly. “ _ Why? _ ” G’raha asks emphatically.

“Wanted to see if I could do it without hurting you. I’m not used to fighting with comrades, so I need to be able to fire without hitting them.” Pike stashes his bow, and steps closer to G’raha. He grabs G’raha’s chin in a loose pinch between his thumb and index, and tilts his face gently to the side. “Good, I didn’t cut you. It was a near thing.”

G’raha’s face is furiously red, and he breathes out shakily. “I should hope not.”

There’s a soft tone to his voice, and Pike realizes how close they are. His skin is very soft, and Pike strokes a thumb across it unthinkingly, still cupping G’raha’s chin. G’raha’s breath hitches.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Pike asks softly.

“Not at all,” G’raha breathes.

“Your eyes are very pretty,” Pike says. “Along with the rest of you.”

“Such eloquent words,” G’raha teases lightly, “From a bard.”

“I could compose a sonnet to them, if you like.” Pike smirks. “Or I could find better things to do with my mouth.”

G’raha’s pupils widen, and Pike’s smirk gets sharper. “What kind of things?”   


Pike leans in, his lips a whisper from G’raha’s own. “Something like...this,” he says, and then licks a stripe up G’raha’s cheek.

He shrieks shrilly, and Pike cackles madly, dancing back and out of the way of G’raha’s furious swipe. “Your  _ face _ ,” he chokes out, between furious giggles. “Oh, a sonnet indeed!  _ How doth the crimson of the sunset compare to the blushing of my dear—” _

With a furious growl, G’raha tackles him to the ground. They wrestle for a bit, rolling around in the dust, until Pike’s giggles infect G’raha and he lies back, pinned in place by Pike’s laughing weight.

“You are a  _ savage _ ,” G’raha declares, when they’ve calmed. 

“Born and raised,” Pike agrees. He props his head up on his hand, looking down on G’raha. “I meant what I said, though. You do have pretty eyes.”

“Cease your teasing, if you will not make good on your promises,” G’raha says petulantly. His face is red, and he looks away from Pike. 

“Oh, don’t be like that, Raha,” Pike says. He swings around to straddle G’raha’s thighs, properly pinning him in place. “If you want something, all you have to do is ask.”

G’raha gets redder, and Pike hears him mutter something. “I didn’t quite catch that, Raha.” Pike smirks, and leans in close. “Louder, dear.”

G’raha glares up at him, then grabs Pike by the lapels and drags him into a furious kiss. Pike makes a “mmpf!” of surprise, but quickly responds with enthusiasm. He braces on his knees, pulling G’raha up and into a deeper kiss, knotting his hands into G’raha’s hair.

When they separate, chests heaving to catch their breath, Pike blinks. “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“ _ You’re _ the one who initiated the teasing,” G’raha points out.

“Well, I thought it was just that,” Pike shrugs. “I thought you disliked me.”

“What?” G’raha tilts his head. “No. I think you’re…” he blushes a bit. “Amazing. The thought you would be interested in me…”

“You’re pretty, and smart,” Pike says. “That’s enough for me.” He’s blushing too, the compliment setting him off guard, and the moment grows awkward. To dispel it, Pike stands, helping G’raha to his feet. “Now, we can continue making out in the dirt, or we can go somewhere a bit more comfortable.”

“The...tents?” G’raha questions.

“Much as the air of Cid and Nero’s sexual tension is an aphrodisiac, no,” Pike says, and G’raha laughs. “I’d rather not be walked in on, with what I plan on doing.”   


G’raha blinks, and reddens. “Oh.”

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Pike says. “I like a good make out session as much as the next Miqo’te. But if you’re amenable...I have a room, at the Rising Stones, and we won’t be bothered.”

“I...find myself amenable,” G’raha says slowly. “Quite, if I may say.”   


“You’re cute,” Pike says. He takes him by the hand, and teleports them back to Revenant’s Toll, laughing at the sputtering protestations from G’raha.

* * *

G’raha hears the humming before he sees Pike, and he feels his heart jump into his throat.

Today’s the day, he’s decided. He’ll tell Pike that he’d like to take him on a date. He’s picked out the place, the restaurant in Mor Dhona, to keep them both close to their obligations should anything come up.

He takes a deep breath as Pike pushes aside the flap to the tent. “Morning!” He calls cheerfully. “Anything I can do to help you today?”

“Not without a lifetime of researching Allagan technology, but I appreciate the offer,” G’raha replies. 

Pike nods and settles onto a box, humming to himself again.

“Composing?” G’raha asks.

“No, I’m just happy,” Pike answers. His ears wiggle as he speaks.

“And what, pray tell, has you so cheerful?” G’raha feels thankful, because a good mood might even mean Pike is more likely to accept—

“I’m in  _ love _ ,” Pike croons, killing that train of thought in a second. “With the most wonderful man in the world. He sent me a  _ courting gift _ . I’m being  _ courted, _ G’raha.” He sighs wistfully.

G’raha fights to pull a mask of indifference over his face. It’s not Pike’s fault, and he definitely doesn’t want to kill the good mood he’s in. “That’s wonderful.”

“Isn’t it?” Pike sighs again. “Oh, Rammbroes said you wanted to speak to me about something! What was it?”   


“Ah, I-I ended up being able to handle it on my own,” G’raha says quickly. 

Pike narrows his eyes at the obvious lie, but then Cid pokes his head in the tent.

“Pike, there you are,” Cid says, and G’raha could kiss him right now. “Nero’s up to something.”   


“You  _ always _ think he’s up to something. He got a cup of coffee for you yesterday and you accused him of poisoning it.”

“He has  _ no _ reason to be kind to me,” Cid grouses.

“ _ I _ made you that cup of coffee, he was just carrying it. Where would he even get his hands on poison, with you watching him all the time?” Pike rolls his eyes. “We’ll speak later, then, G’raha.” He stands and hops off the box. “You know you don’t need to justify why you want to stare at him, Cid…”

G’raha lets out his breath as soon as Pike disappears, and he prays to whichever of the Twelve see fit to make sure Pike forgets. Then he lets the disappointment wash over him. 

It’s worse than being rejected, he thinks. At least then he won’t wonder what could have been. But he won’t ask, not when Pike looks happier than he has the entire time G’raha has known him. He doesn’t want to do anything to diminish that cheer, no matter what.

* * *

He carries that regret with him when he goes to sleep in the Crystal Tower, and when he wakes a hundred years later, it’s just as fresh. Reading and hearing the stories about Pike doesn’t help, either. He’d only gotten more admirable, stronger, more beautiful.

He finds a picture of Pike, drawn years after they’d parted, and treasures it. He’s not much older than when G’raha saw him last, but there’s a stronger, more confident air to him. The smirk has softened into a smile, the eyes less haunted. A thin scar bisects the marks on one side of his face. And he carries a sword and shield, now.

But it’s still the same Pike that G’raha loved— _ still _ loves, even now. 

He tells Lyna stories about him, about a brave bard who took up a sword to wade into the front lines. He repeats Heavensward, simplified for a child’s sensitivities, and watches her eyes shine with delight at the description of a hero soaring through the sky on the back of dragon. And, when she’s older, he tells her about a war, about loss and heroism and the bravery of getting back up, even when you think you’ve been beaten.

“Grandfather,” she asks, one day. “Why do you always look so sad when you tell those stories?   


“They remind me of someone I love,” is all he can manage to say.

**Author's Note:**

> Three in a row with the tragic romance fics. I'm on a roll. 
> 
> The song is Epitaph, by Hippo Campus. It's sort of a double meaning in a way, outside of the meaning of the song, because my ex-girlfriend was the one who introduced me to Hippo Campus, and all their songs have a sort of failed romance vibe to them. Totally recommend them, though I recommend every band who's songs I've used lol.


End file.
